The Flames
by kookey
Summary: He was blunt. He was uncultured. He was cold and coarse. He was everything that she, as a princess and future queen, had been told to avoid. And she couldn't help but be drawn nonetheless. Zelda/Ike. **Chapter 4: The Jungle**
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing except for the plot. The characters are merely being borrowed for my own sense of delight.

**A/n:** I took a liking to Ike instantly. I mean, who couldn't? He's such a hunk, and I'm such a sucker for the loner, bad-boy types! I've heard of him prior to Brawl's release but never actually played any of his games, so if my characterization of him is off I'm very sorry.

Anyway, I have a pretty good idea where this'll be going, and I can assure you that it's going to involve a very sexy, brooding Ike, a very confused but fascinated Zelda, much arguing on both their parts, and a lot of gut-wrenching, hair-pulling moments. At least I hope so. :D

* * *

**The Flames**  
Chapter One:

The Beginning

* * *

Ike was a man that certainly left impressions. She remembered rather well the first time they had been partnered together, which had been, incidentally enough, also the first time she had actually seen him in battle—the first time she had met him eye to eye.

He had said no words, only because Ike was a man for whom words were pointless. He merely glimpsed at her, perhaps to acknowledge the existence of his co-fighter, but that one look had been enough to freeze her momentary pre-battle preparations as if he had just slugged her with a Freezie instead, for Ike was a man who, with a glance, stripped you of your confidence in the span it took to blink—to breathe.

His eyes had said it all: _I don't tolerate losing._

She would have been offended (nothing aggravated her more than being underestimated), would have uttered something to assure _him_ that she didn't tolerate losing _either_, but he had turned around and their opponents had arrived and the courage fled her, drowned in the loud, nearly deafening music.

The fight commenced. He sped off, and she was left wondering acutely whether or not he was quite possibly the most pompous man she had ever met. _No_, she remembered thinking while aiming a quick spell in Kirby's direction, _Ganondorf and Wario clearly own that title._

But Ike, she vehemently decided as the fire ball imploded nearby its target, would definitely be up there on the list.

Kirby, burned but wholly undeterred, twirled towards her, hammer extended. She bit her lip for merely an instant to consider her choices, before gathering her hands together and thrusting her palms out. A spark ignited between her fingers and zapped her pink, round opponent with a torrent of condensed lightning.

Kirby flew off from the impact of her assault within a satisfying minute of the battle. Pleased, Zelda began smoothing out the wrinkles out of her dress (breathing deeply to calm her excited heart and speculating if rubbing her K.O. in Ike's face would be a sign of poor sportsmanship on her part) when she suddenly heard an almost inhuman roar from the other side of the stage and felt the ground shake and groan bellow her boots. Shocked, curious, and almost even a bit frightened, she turned to glance behind her.

Ike was a man of immeasurable strength. He held a double-edged, two-handed sword with merely one, swung it around as if it weighed no more than a wooden ruler, and growled as if it genuinely infuriated him that his opponent existed.

The whole sight of him rendered Zelda oddly speechless.

Ike clutched the hilt of his heavy blade tightly, letting out another yell—raw, angry, _unconquerable_—that chilled her to the bone before plunging his weapon forward. The atmosphere hissed and bellowed. Fox, his opponent, dodged his sword with some fancy footwork, but the attack had been close and slit through one of his sleeves in passing. Fox scowled, briefly glancing at the ruined shirt, and then looked back up where he suddenly noticed Zelda...

...standing alone and unoccupied and wholly distracted.

The perfect target.

Before she knew it, before she could throw back up her guard, Fox spun past Ike and began heading in her direction with speed and determination. _S_he silently cursed herself for being so easily enraptured, trying in the two seconds she had before he was in front of her to transform into Sheik...

It was too late. Fox's foot connected with her abdomen, and Zelda gasped as the air rushed out of her lungs.

Ike might have yelled her name—or perhaps it had been the crowd; she couldn't remember too clearly—as she flew in the air, higher and higher until the sun scorched her and she felt the tears of frustration burn her eyes. A familiar light encompassed her, and then abruptly, the battle was over.

When she returned to the stage to meet back with her partner—who had been subsequently knocked out right after her—she wasn't sure what to expect, but the blatant animosity burning in his eyes clearly hadn't been quite it. He blamed her for the loss. She felt both furious and hurt.

"You should've blocked," he grit out.

Goddesses above, she had just met the man for the first time that day and already she wanted to never see him again! Kneading her temple with her fingers (and resisting the temptation of socking him in the jaw) she sighed and offered in reply all that she could. "I tried."

"No," he scoffed, eyes narrowed. "Trying implies that you had a desire to win, when, clearly, you did no—"

She gasped in indignation. Questioning her will as a fighter was the last straw! "Do not," she hissed, taking a step closer and jabbing him with an accusing finger square in the chest, "take me to be such a lightweight, _sir_! Perhaps it should be _you_ whose authenticity we should question seeing how you so easily let him slip past you."

His face was void of a reaction, and so for a short-lived moment, they merely stared at each other, lost in some subliminal contest of the wills. She realized, then (when everyone but them was gone and the stage was deathly silent), how close they truly were. Her breath lodged itself in her throat; in their proximity, Zelda could see the blues of his eyes and the contour of his frowning lips and the very slight stubble on his chin. When she inhaled finally, she also noticed something else that took her by mild surprise:

Ike was a man that smelled vaguely of apples.

She had to remind herself quickly that she was supposed to be angry—angry at his haughty attitude and his rather hard chest (because now her finger hurt from poking him).

Finally, after seemingly eons ticked away around them, his scowl deepened, and he turned. "Whatever. If you were nearly half the warrior you claim to be, you wouldn't have been standing there dumbstruck anyway."

Ike was gone in a matter of seconds, but his words still lingered, snaking around her and constricting painfully until she was choking back a desire to rip his cape off and happily stuff it in his mouth. The fact that he smelled like her favorite fruit did nothing to saturate her fury.

_But I won't_, she thought, _because I am a princess, and such actions are unbecoming of me, and I will _not_ allow a man to affect me so easily_.

No, she wouldn't, even _if_ he was a prick who deserved suffocating on his own flashy wardrobe.

* * *

How she managed to avoid Ike for the remainder of the week, she couldn't say, but thanked the Goddesses for her luck anyway. It wasn't until several days later however—her rage thoroughly reduced by then and as she was walking to her room from a pleasant luncheon with Link—that Zelda realized somberly the loss had been, in fact, her fault. Had she not been ogling—

_No_, she firmly told herself suddenly, _not ogling. _

It hadn't been ogling (_Had it?_). Ogling suggested she had seen something she liked and there was absolutely _nothing_ about Ike that she liked, so it must have been something else, something else in its entirety. She may have been _admiring_ how nicely his sword caught the light (because it had been a nice sword when she thought about it really) or how the muscles in his arms bulged every time he swung or how sometimes his scowl deepened whenever his hair fell into his eyes (because it had been hard to miss certain things like that), but that had been _admiring_ not _ogling_.

_No_, she swallowed as she reached the mahogany door of her room, somehow her reassurances falling short, _not ogling at all._

Turning the golden knob and consequently entering the premises revealed Peach, her roommate and moreover best friend, sitting by the window sipping her afternoon tea. Zelda's spirits rose instantly. A talk with Peach, who was assured to agree that she had not been ogling, was just the thing she needed to finally put herself at ease.

After several minutes of explaining her argument of _ogling_ versus _admiring_, Peach finally put her porcelain cup down in its proper tea plate, dabbed a napkin gently to her lips, and then patted Zelda on the cheek with the utmost affection and perhaps a tad bit of amusement as well.

"Zelda, my dear," Peach's voice rang, and the Hylian Princess practically felt better already, "you were definitely ogling."

"I was not!" So much for putting her at ease.

"You most obviously were. But don't worry; I think _all_ of us were ogling him at one point or another."

Zelda bit her lip, playing with the tip of the braid that ran along her back but was currently flung over her shoulder. "Link will dislike me for this," she said after a moment.

Peach laughed. "Zelda, for goodness' sake, you were just looking! There's no crime in that. It's not as if you were thinking about taking his _pants_ of." There was a pause. "You weren't, right?"

"Of course not!" Zelda sputtered in embarrassment. "I would never—"

"Good. I can't say the same about Samus, and I'm sure you can imagine what a fit Captain Falcon was having, but I'll tell you more about _that_ later."

Zelda smiled. Trust Peach to know the latest gossip _and_ spread it like the wind.

"For now, however," Peach continued, gathering her friend's hand in her own and scooting her chair closer, before leaning forward with such curiosity that her face nearly sparkled with it, "tell me something: Is it true that if you stand near enough, and peer long enough, you can see the fire in his eyes?"

Zelda didn't need the name to know who Peach was talking about. She closed her eyes briefly and thought back to when she and Ike had first locked gazes and felt an indescribable blaze flutter in her gut, mostly from righteous anger but a tinge of something else she couldn't name.

When her lids fluttered back open, she grinned if only slightly. "Oh, the flames are there all right."

* * *

**A/n:** I don't know why, but for an avid Zelda/Link shipper, I'm having a hell of an easy time writing this Zelda/Ike fanfic. The inspiration keeps on coming. xD

Some important things to note: Zelda and Link are involved. That's inevitable, the fan that I am of him and all.

Also, if you haven't figured out already, I'm going to be taking some creative liberties with the game, especially where the fighting is involved, so if something occurs that is impossible in Brawl, don't point it out, because believe me, _I know_.

Anyway, thanks for giving this fanfic a chance! Please review and tell me what you think!

* * *

**Next Chapter:** Chapter Two – The Cape

_His scaly paw made a wild grasp for her, caught the hem of her skirt, and then pressed her violently towards the ground. With his unbearable weight on her body, he pulled her arm back, and she both heard and felt the loud crack of bone._


	2. Chapter 2

**A/n:** Thanks for the amazing reviews guys; they were truly inspiring. In fact, they were so inspiring that I made this chapter extra long, too! :D

Special thanks go to **Sweet Valentine** for being the first reviewer and **J.Q. Aoi** for giving me more insight into Ike's character.

* * *

**The Flames**  
Chapter Two:

The Cape

* * *

Zelda didn't like to admit it, but the loss she attained that day with Ike stayed with her for some time to come, dreadful and as annoying as a wine stain on her favorite Terminian rug. Never mind what Ike had said (all things related with that intolerable man had been fed through a figurative paper shredder in her mind). The fact of the matter was simple: she had failed to react in time to Fox's impromptu switch of opponents and that had cost her a great deal of respect, both in her eyes and in the eyes of her peers.

The solution was also simple enough: she needed to garner a win, one that was brilliant and gaudy and showed off her skills while _still_ maintaining the air of a monarch.

But in order to do that, she had to hone her skills first, and that in itself was the problem.

_Where?_

The answer to her prayers came in the form of Peach.

"The Training Room."

Zelda blinked, the delicate teacup that she had been lifting to her lips frozen halfway in its journey. "What?"

"You _know_," Peach continued, her own cup grasped majestically with two fingers in a manner only Peach could pull off, "the Training Room in the Southern Wing, past the boys' dormitories in the West and right next to the Target Range?"

It took a little thinking on her part to remember, but when the neurons in her brain clicked, her nose scrunched up at the memory.

"You mean the one that's occupied by the men all the time, who are always grunting, sweating, or profusely showing off their muscles to one another in some pitiful show of masculinity?" Zelda took a small sip, mouth coiled slightly in a scowl. "There's a reason why us girls no longer go there, Peach."

It was like stepping into a sweatshop. The stench permeating from the room in passing alone was sometimes enough to even make Samus's suit malfunction. The one time Zelda had actually ventured in (naïve and earnest and under the impression that the arena had been a _clean_, safe space meant for both sexes), a fight between DK and Snake had suddenly broken out, and she had been nearly trampled over by their wrestling, hairy mass.

The vivacious blond looked up with a smile. "I know it's disgusting—"

"That's putting it mildly."

"—but I also know for a fact that some of the cameras they have installed in the hallways don't really work; so, say, sneaking into said Training Room after lights-out, when it would be favorably empty, would be no hard task."

A brief moment of silence ensued in which Zelda merely stared at Peach with something akin to amazement.

"How do you know all this?"

Peach grinned, and Zelda was struck by the mischief dancing in her usually innocent expression. "They don't call me the Gossip Queen for nothing, dear."

* * *

She was glad she had taken the opportunity to train when it had come, for several days later, and as she was reading in her room ("Advanced Tae Kwon Do" and "Man and His Ego: Why Women Are Significantly Superior"), an envelope slipped through one of the crevices of her door. It glided majestically, marked with the official Smash seal, before landing at her feet perfectly face-up and bearing her name.

Zelda had been assigned a fight.

She all but leapt at the letter before ripping it open. It didn't say who she was being pitted against, but at that moment she really couldn't care less. It did state in large bold letters, however, where the match was, what time it began, and to report to the stage promptly or else she would automatically lose.

She left the room without as much as a glance behind her.

* * *

Looking into the eyes of her adversary, minutes later, Zelda realized that victory was not going to be easy. A crowd had already assimilated by the time she had reached her assigned stage. Skyworld, with its glorious architecture and the beautiful sunset in the background, would have been a picture perfect example of serenity...

...had there not been, smack in the middle of it and scratching his nose idly with a claw, the hefty green and yellow turtle that was to be her opponent.

Bowser greeted her with a malicious grin of sharp teeth and leering eyes. Zelda, wearing a cool mask of indifference, merely looked back as if he were no more significant than the dust particles floating in the air, even though, inside, she was quivering with pre-battle jitters, all training from previous nights forgotten in her worry.

He was nearly twice her size, had nearly double the brute strength, and weighed the most out of all of her fellow Smashers (even more than King Dedede, and he probably ate twice as much as Bowser). She had to be nimble and avoid his heavy damage dealing attacks, but the fact she had to do this in a dress did not bode too well in her favor.

_If it gives me trouble_, _I'll just turn into Sheik_, she mused, recalling her alter ego's form fitting attire_._

The music began to flourish from some unknown source Zelda could never discover, signaling the beginning of the battle. It grew in tempo and volume until she felt her pulse drum along with the beat, felt the crescendo run down her spine like some cold phantom hand.

She dug the soles of her feet into the marble ground, ready.

And then, without warning, Bowser pounced—teeth bare, claws extended, eyes wide.

She dodged easily enough, stepping behind him before raising her leg and giving his shell a hard kick. The toe of her boot glowed slightly under the touch of magic she applied there, before an all too loud _thunk_ resonated and he fell forward as if he had simply slipped.

He hadn't flown like she hoped, but she _had_ succeeded in aggravating him if anything else.

Bowser growled menacingly when he noticed the crack on the pride and joy that was his shell. Zelda was decidedly pleased with the circumstances, but then he began stomping in her direction—bits and pieces of the ground breaking under his heavy steps—and her elation evaporated swiftly from the heat in his glare.

_Oh, shoot._

A quick glance behind her revealed that she was at the edge of the platform and that she had no other choice but to transport herself to the other side of the stage. She bit her bottom lip out of nervousness and uncertainty, for her magical disappearing act was as helpful as it was dangerous; numerous times, usually in the hype of the moment or whenever her concentration wasn't at its best, she found herself flailing off the edge of stadiums, missing her landing marks entirely.

She would have to take a leap of faith this time.

Inhaling deeply, Zelda extended her arms and began to spin. The world around her blurred into a mesh of lines and color and—

And then, out of nowhere, Bowser stepped on the hem of her gown. Her whole body lurched, her feet lost their balance, and somewhere in her vast mind, the Hylian princess cursed in fury.

The bastard was playing dirty!

In the second it took to fall towards the ground, his scaly paw made a wild grasp for her, caught the edge of her skirt (causing a large tear, she noticed crossly), and then pressed her face first towards the granite without the least concern. With his unbearable weight on her body, he pulled her arm back viciously until she both heard and felt the loud crack of bone.

The crowd gasped collectively, and somewhere in its midst, she murkily registered Link scream her name under her own cry of agony. Pain erupted from her shoulder like molten lava and spread to every tendril of her body, suffocating her, impairing her ability to move and think and breathe. It hurt to just open her eyes, blurry and stinging because of the tears that had gathered there in response to the throbbing ache of her injury.

Bowser guffawed above her with a taunt and pounding of his chest. She gritted her teeth so hard that when she finally turned herself onto her back (nearly collapsing when another wave of pain shocked her nerves), her jaws ached. She made a mental reminder to bump Bowser up on her list of pompous, insufferable males.

In an attempt to ignore the pain, Zelda tried to figure out the best course of action. She flexed her fingers experimentally, hope crumbling when only her left hand was able to make a fist.

_I barely have one functional arm left_, she noted sourly. She would have to make the best of it. She _had_ to.

"Hey, you overgrown reptile!" she barked. Bowser glared down at her lazily, as if she was no imminent threat.

How wrong he was.

With a yell and swing of her good arm, she slapped her palm against his face. He jerked back in surprise but was nowhere near fast enough to dodge the burst of fire that suddenly erupted from her fingers.

He was off her in a second, screaming as his face and hair caught aflame.

Finally free, Zelda pushed herself shakily to her feet. Her mind buzzed with slight vertigo, barely making out Bowser's large shape in front of her as he hopped around, arms patting his head wildly. Breathing labored and muscles crying out in overuse, she knew in that instant that she had only one chance to end this in her favor.

By the time she collected the little energy she had left for one last attack, Bowser had successfully scorched the flames. His face was burned and hair slightly singed, and one of his eyebrows was incidentally missing. Zelda would have laughed at the sight of her brow-less opponent had her jaw not been shut firm in concentration.

She would laugh later, preferably once the match was won.

He snarled deafeningly, shaking from fury and hatred and fear, as he raised a coiled claw. Before she could comprehend—before she could inhale or blink—the fist was speeding through the air in her direction like a cannonball of scales and sharp nails.

Time slowed down for a trickle of a second as she became painfully aware of the fact that she was trembling in her spot, muscles frozen and unable to respond. All the while the fist was coming closer and closer, and maintaining consciousness was becoming harder and harder.

_Move_, she cried to herself. _Move!_

She blindly, helplessly released a punch of her own. Their knuckles met. There was a brief light. The wind howled. There was a short moment of silence in which even the music was coincidentally low. Then...

Zelda was thrown back so fast that all she could register was her hair tangling in her face and her dress flapping wildly and the bubbling ache of disappointment in her throat.

When she returned to stage, Bowser was being handed the wreath of victory, having flown off only a second after her.

* * *

Later that night, physically healed but mentally seething, Zelda opted for a little training session to get her mind off her unprecedented loss. Dressed as Sheik, she slipped into the hallways that Peach had mapped out for her previously, molding into the shadows and eerie darkness in her silent but determined trek.

Once inside the Training Room, she proceeded to beat the crap out of a sandbag on which she had sketched a rough imitation of Bowser's face.

"This," she hissed, punching it where his jaw was drawn, "is for breaking my arm. And _this_," she added with further ferocity, spin-kicking where his groin undoubtedly would have been, "is for ripping my dress!"

She had to admit that it was rather liberating abusing inanimate objects in her fury and in so immense an empty place. Here and now she could release all her pent up wrath, yell as loud and as un-princess-like as she pleased without having to worry about anyone, sans the crudely depicted Bowser, seeing her at possibly her wildest.

"Beating up the sandbag will not make you a better fighter."

Zelda spun around, instinctively revealing and releasing her poisoned darts in the direction of her intruder long before she was consciously aware that she had done so. Ike did not even flinch as the needles skimmed and then imbedded themselves in the wall right beside his cheek.

The soft shudder of the needles echoed in the vast arena. She blinked, trying to register the fact that there was a blue-haired man currently standing unenthusiastically (arms folded and mouth coiled in a discontent frown) at the entrance of a place that she was positive only _she_ was told how to get to at that time of night.

The shock soon gave way to panic.

_How long...?_

Her glare narrowed additionally when she caught a glimpse of amusement dancing in his eyes amidst his otherwise stoic expression, and gritted her teeth, as she was in _no_ mood for his criticism that night.

"Here to mock my indiscretions?" Zelda asked calmly, though new set of darts gleamed ominously from between her fingers. This time, she would not be caught unaware.

This time, she would not miss.

To her surprise, he did no mocking of any sort. "If you truly wish to improve," he sighed, astonishing her further by hoisting his sword out of its protective sheath at his belt and twirling the hilt experimentally in his hand, before pointing the tip of it all too brazenly in her direction, "fight _me_, instead."

She nearly gaped, and it was only her princess upbringings that prevented her from openly doing so.

"What?"

"Are you deaf?" He scowled, as if it pained him in having to repeat himself. "I said we should fight."

"I'm not deaf, thank you very much," she snapped. "Merely...taken aback, if you will. Why would I _ever_ want to fight you?"

He was here to take advantage of her. It made sense; any rational fighter could see that she was weakened from her earlier skirmish. Perhaps he wanted to acquire a win now that her ego was melting away in some pitiful ditch somewhere. Perhaps he wanted to soothe his own deflated spirits by pounding on someone already psychologically weary.

_Bastard,_ she mentally shot at him. _I should shave you bald for being such a coward._

Scoffing, Zelda was about to turn back to her sandbag and ignore the bothersome man for the remainder of the night (he could stare at her back, for all _she_ cared) when she noticed something entirely foreign from the corner of her vision.

Ike was smirking.

Her heart immediately fluttered in response, spreading in its wake hot tendrils that tickled her stomach.

The haughty smile was a slight upturn of the lips, barely noticeable, and quite different from Link's boisterous, infectious grins (heavier, she would conclude later, and several shades darker), but her reaction had been as profound as if Ike had suddenly taken off his shirt instead. This was the first time she had seen such an expression on his face—first time she had discovered the shy dimples on his cheeks—and she decided that she was none too happy with the way she reacted to it.

So busy trying to squish the odd feeling, she nearly missed his next accusation.

"Is the princess afraid of losing yet another battle?"

If it had been Ike's intention to provoke her, provoke her he certainly did, for she suddenly released a kick to his side, aiming with a vehement desire to break a few (really, _all_) of his ribs.

She didn't even see him move, but somehow, her leg met the long, flat side of his sword instead. She hid her shock behind a veil, grunting discontentedly before attacking again, this time aiming for his shins to knock him off balance.

With startling dexterity for someone as sluggish as himself, Ike jumped over the affront, before bringing his sword down. Zelda dived out of the way barely in the nick of time as the weapon smashed into a nearby rock, effectively reducing it into a heap of pebbles. Nonetheless, she could feel the repercussions of the attack vibrate through the ground below her, prickling her feet and numbing her senses and implanting a seed of fear in her confidence.

She bit back her gasp of shock while trying to regain her poise from her haphazard dodge. _Composure, _she could hear Impa's berating voice. _Composure and patience is the key to victory—_

She swerved her hands in front of her, blocking another one of his swings, this time grasping the sharp edge of his sword and biting hard at the iron force behind it.

—Too bad she was too busy trying to obstruct her opponent's moves to take her mentor's advice to heart.

Ike, unfavorably emotionless as usual, applied more pressure until Zelda could feel the blade cut into her thick gloves. The Goron hide with which the gloves were made of was of the best back in Hyrule and special in that it allowed fluid joint movement while providing maximum armor. Armor, she realized at she felt the weapon prick her skin, that could withstand constant pressure for only so long.

It wasn't until Ike saw the blood trickling down his sword that he finally relented and pushed her back. She landed not so delicately on her rump.

_Great_, she grumbled sourly in thought. _Not only are my hands bleeding, but now my butt hurts too._

This day couldn't possibly get any worse.

When Ike kneeled in front of her, gazing at her with exasperation, she realized she was proven wrong yet again. She waited for the lecture she just knew that was coming.

Instead, he grabbed her hands, and she jumped, watching (partly fascinated, partly afraid, and entirely confused) as he gently slipped off her gloves to further scrutinize her wounds. There were long, horizontal cuts along each palm and from which leaked a rather astounding amount of blood. She nearly grew nauseous at the sight.

He threw her another annoyed look and muttered "stubborn woman" under his breath as if the state of her hands had been _her_ fault and not his.

Goddesses, the audacity of that man!

She opened her mouth to retort when the sound of ripping cloth promptly cut her off. It wasn't until she felt him wrap a soft, thick material around her left palm that she learned that he was tearing long strands from his cape and using them as makeshift bandages.

Zelda swallowed—all notion of speaking lost in the opaque haze that had suddenly engulfed her mind—as his rough fingers carefully spread her own, as he worked at a fast but precise rate around her wounds, as she felt her nerves kick into overdrive at the proximity and intimacy and altogether peculiar kindness.

It didn't particularly help that his apple scent had returned and that she could practically _taste_ the fruit with them being so close...

She grew flustered when she realized he had finished some time ago and that she had been caught gawking.

"Um..." she mumbled, unsure of what to say. _Thank you_ hung at the tip of her tongue, but her throat was oddly parched and he was staring at her so pointedly that she couldn't find the will to move anymore than she had to. The atmosphere had gone from combative to uncomfortable in the bat of an eyelash, and she had yet to catch up with the abrupt change.

Ike got up without upheaval. "Eat some food. The bandages won't heal your foolish mistakes."

She _wanted_ to scowl, because that would have been the right and sensible and in character thing to do, but her face muscles weren't listening to her brain. Instead, she watched dumbly as he simply disappeared through the exit, as if the darkness had eaten him whole, leaving her on the floor cradling her newly wrapped limbs in her lap.

Later, in the comforts of her bed, she could still recall the feel of his hands on hers.

* * *

**A/n:** Two fight scenes in one chapter! I wanted to challenge myself, so I tried. The fight between Bowser and Zel in the beginning is actually based on a match my brother and I had. We happened to attack at precisely the same time, and when our attacks met, we both went flying... only I flew off a millisecond or two before him.

Don't expect every chapter to be as action-packed as this one happened to be. I'd tire myself before getting to all the emotional good stuff. XD

Anyway, thanks for reading. Please review!

* * *

**Next Chapter:** Chapter Three – The Confession

"_You should have seen the way he flinched when Bowser broke your arm, dear. It was heartbreaking." _


	3. Chapter 3

**A/n:** I'm so sorry for the delay! Life was pretty hectic for me; prom, finals, graduation, and placement tests for college were all within days of each other. Christ, I'm not even sure how I survived the past few weeks, but it's been massively fun for the most part. Gonna miss those high school days. D:

Good news though! I managed to make friends with someone who has both (I think) Ike-related Fire Emblem games. I'm sure with sufficient begging, I may be able to convince her enough to lend them to me, though, truth be told, it may be too late at this point since I have the story and Ike's characterization all plotted out already. Hmm...we'll see.

Anyway, the reviews have been simply amazing and highly motivating. They make writing 'The Flames' all the more worthwhile. Thank you so much!

Special dedication for this chapter goes to my super awesome friend, **Joe Pit**. You fucking rock, man.

* * *

**The Flames**  
Chapter Three:

The Confession

* * *

"Keep your arms bent!"

"Don't pause in between steps!"

"Where the _hell_ are you aiming?"

Zelda bit her cheeks so hard to keep from verbally lashing out (remembering that it was because of Ike that she was improving and that, really, cursing was _so_ unbecoming of a queen) that she recognized the bitter copper taste of blood on her tongue and the bile in the back of her throat from hours worth of pent up frustration.

She sidestepped a vertical swing of his orange, suddenly aflamed sword, pondering if she had been absolutely insane the day she decided to train with him or whether her brain had been on vacation, because _this_—this "no breaks, no food" regimen of his—was going to be the death of her!

She was sweaty. She was hungry. She was sore down to her fingertips.

She wanted to kill him.

"Your footwork is atrocious."

And he wasn't making things any easier.

What began as spars became a game of sorts quickly thereafter—a game that started without notice, without sign, without acknowledgment that it even existed in the first place. A peculiar game, Zelda realized in hindsight, and for which the rules were never written but as clearly understood as the universal truths of the world: the sky was blue, the grass was green, Captain Falcon wore briefs everyday apart from Tuesdays (laundry day) when he wore nothing at all.

The first and most fundamental law was that there was to be no pleasant talking of any kind. Jibes and taunts and noises (especially from Ike, _mostly_ from Ike) were guaranteed, almost required, but enjoyable inquiries as to how one's day presently transpired were irrelevant and therefore nonexistent.

Why anyone would even _choose_ to converse with such an ill-mannered swordsman was beyond her.

"Focus, woman!" Ike barked from across the field, and her eyebrow twitched at the nickname. "I'm not here so you can sulk."

The second silently established law deemed that spars were held every other night, giving Zelda sufficient time to train alone or rest in between the often drilling sessions she had with Ike, who held nothing back when it came to criticizing every little fault of her performance.

Sometimes (oftentimes), she just wanted to sock him in the jaw for all his nasty comments. Other times (nearly as often), she simply wanted to stare, perhaps conclude finally whether or not his locks were anywhere near as soft as they appeared.

"What are you looking at?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Nothing." _Not at you, for sure._ "I'm strategizing." ..._how to touch your hair without making it awkward._

Peach had always wanted to discover the truth too (they had discussed it plenty), and it saddened Zelda to know that even if she were to discover the answer, her friend would have to remain uninformed. The third and final law, incidentally the most important and one which Ike never failed to casually reiterate whenever she retreated for the day, stated no one, aside from themselves, was ever to be aware of their clandestine meetings in the Training Room.

This, Zelda couldn't have agreed with any more than she already did. Openly speaking of their sessions would've been the equivalent of unsheathing Link's Master Sword and simply handing it to Ganondorf the next time the giant Gerudo man felt like dominating all of Hyrule—frightening, detrimental, and utterly stupid.

And speaking of Link...

She couldn't even _imagine_ the rumors that would fly if word ever got out, the whispers that would be exchanged of what could be going on but clearly wasn't and nearly gave Zelda shivers just thinking about.

_I can't do that to Link_, she declared passionately. _As a girlfriend, as a princess, as a woman of honor and law..._

It was precisely for this reason (and because Ike's glaring face always seemed to appear in her mind's eye whenever she even considered mentioning anything) that she kept word of it even from Peach, who, despite their friendship, Zelda knew was notorious for "accidentally" letting slip factoids of other Smashers' lives, embarrassing tidbits that Peach had a knack for collecting like Link had a hobby for collecting bugs.

Things, for a while, were peaceful enough, however; Peach, though suspecting, asked nothing, and Zelda, though slightly ashamed, said nothing likewise, even though keeping it a secret was growing increasingly hard—especially when certain moments occurred during training, things she wished she could mull over with Peach but was thus forbidden.

"Now, let's work on your posture."

Zelda all but squeaked aloud when Ike suddenly materialized behind her, so close that she could feel the cotton of his shirt graze her bare back and hear his voice reverberate down her neck and smell those _blasted_ apples all over again. When his hands clamped on her waist, she openly screeched and swung around so fast and so on impulse that it took her a while to realize that she had made a fist and that, in her wild turn about, had connected said fist with his face.

He was on the ground, chin blue, and bleeding from his bottom lip.

_Oh_, she murmured to herself, staring at her clenched hand in surprise. That had been first hit she had been able to land on him all night _and_ it had successfully shut him up.

Somewhere from beneath several compact layers of dread and weariness, her pride flared to life with rejuvenating vigor. Smirking, she leaned forward, greeting the still fallen Ike with a friendly pat on the head, palm momentarily tickled by his messy blue tresses as they skimmed her skin.

_Every bit as soft and thick as it looks, Peach._

"My posture is fine, thank you."

Then, without further ado, she promptly turned around and left, grinning to herself in her exit as if she had won some battle.

As far as she was concerned, she had.

* * *

It was breakfast next morning when Peace decided it was promptly done existing.

Zelda and Peach, in customary fashion, were walking towards their customary booth with their customary lunches (which consisted of, thanks to Peach's perseverance, all the customary delicacies that royals such as themselves were used to) immersed in customary friendly chatter. Zelda smiled at the pleasant norm of their morning ritual, had come to appreciate it as one of the few stable factors of her life.

"Oh, look!" Peach whispered fiercely then. "There's Ike!"

Zelda's elation quickly fell, and from her distance she recognized his cape and arrogant aura. Frowning, she wracked her mind to find some sort of justification for this predicament, since Ike sat nowhere near this area of the cafeteria and having him suddenly spring up was an unwelcomed shock to her nerves, making her both annoyed and anxious all the at the same time and in a multitude of doses.

Last night's fiasco suddenly dawned upon her like a ton of bricks, shattering the last bits of calm routine into particles lost in the wind. She had been brazen—more brazen than she had ever been in her life. Was his appearance today some sort of sign, a declaration or subliminal message that he was sending her?

If it was, she had a fair guess what he might have been communicating.

She knew of men and their egotistical ways, had read upon the subject numerous times and had witnessed it countless more in her very presence. Ike probably felt infuriated by her rather surprising victory punch and wanted to retaliate by openly humiliating her in front of their peers.

Zelda swallowed the lump in her throat, grasping wildly for any semblance of the courage she had harbored the night before but nothing but a pitiful writhing mass remained.

If harassing was the case, it would be safest to avoid any contact with him. She could thus only hope, pray to the goddesses above her, that Ike would stay clear off their route.

"And he's headed this way!"

_So much for that_, she grumbled to herself before furiously glancing around in order to piece together a quick escape, one that would preferably deter them from the incoming missile that was Ike. But they were far too along their trek to find another course, and turning around seemed impossible without a carefully coated excuse—something her brain suddenly found a too overwhelming task to complete.

Cursing her inabilities under pressure, she steeled her resolve and decided to march on forward instead. If she stared at the floor beneath her or the walls up ahead in passing, there was a chance they could go by without incident.

_Don't look up, Zelda. Don't look up. Whatever you do, don't—_

Something sparkled in her peripheral vision, and in reflex she lifted her eyes.

Their gazes met instantaneously, and immediately she regretted it, for some invisible force locked her to his face with chains that stripped her of her resolve and rendered her weak. Perhaps it had been how intently his eyes were boring into hers, or the way his mouth was quirked ever so slightly upward, or even the almost magnetic spark the sizzled the air between them and slowed her proud, determined stride to a slow, aimless saunter.

Their exchange must have been no longer than three seconds, but it felt like forever until he finally passed, headed in the opposite direction, and left her acutely wondering why her heart suddenly felt like it had just run a mile. When she touched her cheeks, they were burning.

It wasn't until she and Peach reached their booth and finally seated themselves that the Hylian princess noticed Peach's intense glare from across the table.

Zelda opted for a little distraction.

"I must say, they prepared breakfast spectacularly today," she began with a false sense of marvel. "This is quite the piece of..." she stabbed something randomly on her plate, "...lettuce, don't you think?"

Peach pursed her lips and leaned over, unimpressed. "What was _that_?"

"The lettuce?"

"No," Peach sighed in exasperation, "that..._thing_ that just happened. Between you and Ike."

Zelda tensed but covered her uneasiness with an expressionless nibble of her salad. "It was nothing."

"No, _nothing_ is what Wario has in between his ears," Peach retorted, before taking a fierce bite of her toast and chewing it down noisily, her scowl growing tenfold. "What I saw a few minutes ago was clearly and undoubtedly _something_."

"You must be seeing things," Zelda scoffed, though inwardly she too pondered about what had truly transpired and if in actuality it _was_ something she needed to talk about.

"As your best friend," Peach huffed, before taking another large and loud mouthful out of her bread, "I...I am affronted that you are unwilling to share such a vital and necessary development of your life." There was a sniff, a gentle tremble of the lips and a quiver of the chin currently coated with a thin layer of crumbs; Zelda realized with a jolt that her companion had begun to cry.

Her innards burned with self-loathing and guilt, and she grasped Peach's hands firmly within her own. "Oh, Peach! Believe me, it isn't anything like that!"

"Really? You could've fooled me."

It felt like she was wedged painfully between two solid forces with no hope of breaking free unless she made a choice. Whatever preference she made, she knew the other option was going to be grossly affected—to what degree, she wasn't sure.

When Peach drew back her to wipe away a few tears, something in Zelda suddenly snapped, and she fisted her hands. She was _not_ going to lose a friend over _him_ and their stupid secrets, reputation be damned! She was just going to have to remind Peach every once and awhile never to repeat any part of the confession to anyone else and hope that such efforts, in combination with Peach's natural inhibitions, would be enough to keep the confidential information from spreading.

A quick glance around revealed that Ike was nowhere in sight and that no one of exceptional hearing was in earshot either. Safe, she breathed deeply to calm her jittery nerves and then offered to her sniffling friend, "If I tell you, will you stop crying?"

Zelda marveled at how quickly the tears were replaced with a grin on Peach's face. "Of course!"

She wondered idly if she had been just played by Peach's wondrous acting skills; someone—_Mario_, she faintly recalled—had warned her about them a long time ago.

_Too late to back out now._

Still nervous, but equally determined to get this off her chest, the Hylian princess opened her mouth, pushing aside Ike's glaring visage as it popped up in her mind and essentially ignoring the memory of his voice recounting the third law, before shifting closer so Peach could hear her voice's soft volume.

And then she began, "That day I lost to Bowser, I went to go train..."

* * *

There was some acutely wrong with the lack of surprise in Peach's reaction. In fact, Zelda felt a little duped when the gossipmonger didn't immediately break into squeals or throw confetti happily in the air or demand they go chase Ike down to further investigate and perhaps record his feelings on the matter, because that was the Peach thing to do and Zelda had expected no less.

When the blond princess simply nodded her head and smoothed out the wrinkles from her dress at the conclusion of Zelda's tale, warning bells rang in her head. She had thought the whole ordeal was rather wild and scandalous, risqué and unladylike, and just the kind of material Peach would have sucked up like a sponge.

Was it really not that big of a deal?

Peach coughed delicately and dabbed her lips with her napkin, and it was then that Zelda spotted a smile, satisfied and small and twitching as if its owner was trying her very hardest to hide it.

_Wait a minute..._Zelda's eyes narrowed.

"You knew, didn't you?"

Startled, Peach looked up. "Knew what?"

The more she thought about it, the more it made sense, the more she leaned forward and stared at her friend steadily with an angry gaze. "That Ike was visiting the Training Room every night or so. And _don't_," Zelda added with further ferocity when Peach opened her mouth, "say that you didn't because I can tell."

Peach bit her lip. "I wasn't going to deny anything, Zelda. I had...suspicions about the whole thing, but I needed you to confirm them since I wasn't entirely sure he had listened when I told him—"

Zelda's fork slipped through her fingers and clattered loudly against her porcelain plate of mixed vegetables that then spilled across her tray and into her heart-shaped fried eggs.

"You _what_?" Zelda shrieked, her voice a higher octave than normal and so loud that the princess duo caught the attention of nearby Smashers, most notably of which were Lucario and his Pokémon tablemates now effectively glancing in their direction. Zelda swallowed and forced herself to whisper furiously instead. "_You're_ the one who told him how to get there?"

Peach blinked innocently and gazed at her through her long lashes. "Was I not supposed to?"

_I should have known_, Zelda reflected numbly before another thought struck her like lightning. _What else has she told him about me?_

Peach sat across from her the picture perfect example of virtuousness and naivety, but it was the all too recognizable twinkling in her eyes that made Zelda realize that it was highly likely Peach had given Ike more reasons to mock her for the rest of her life.

She groaned into her hands.

"Now, now, Zelda. From what you've told me, it can't be _that_ bad." Peach smiled surely, tapping a manicured nail against her chin in thought. "Bandaging you with scraps from his cape, holding you close with his nice man-hands." Her expression turned blissful, cheeks stained pink. "Seems like you've got it made, dear."

Zelda glared through her fingers. "You're forgetting Peach that, one: I have a boyfriend, and two: Ike is an infuriating tyrant who enjoys watching others suffer at the expense of his ego." Something in her brain clicked like a puzzle falling into place, and she grasped Peach's hands swiftly. "Did he threaten you? Is that why you told him about the Training Room? Because if he did—"

Peach laughed. "Zelda! Of course not! He didn't even utter a word in my direction, too busy staring at _you_ that afternoon."

* * *

_Several Days Prior_

It was a well-known fact that the Brawl Arena benches were rather uncomfortable and tended to numb one's hind quarters when sat upon for prolonged periods of time. Peach, however, resolved this problem with quick thinking on her part (since people of her status did not simply succumb to the mundane seating arrangements of commoners) by promptly telling Toad to bring a few cushions whenever they prepared to go observe a fight.

Though, truth be told, Peach did more observing of her fellow audience members than she did the brawls like everyone else. When a public announcement stated that Zelda was being pitted against Bowser, she hurried to the stands to immediately situate herself at the highest and furthest back row—umbrella perched, a cup of tea in hand—as such a vantage point allowed her to freely scrutinize her peers without having to look excessively obvious about it.

"Toad, my opera glasses, please."

Her mushroom-shaped servant next to her, and seated subsequently on his own pillow, quickly dove into the knapsack he had brought along, producing not only her golden pair of binoculars but a small notebook and pen as well. The opera glasses were swiftly handed to Peach, who then lifted the pair towards her eyes and scanned the stage beyond them with a careful gaze, but the slim pink pad Toad kept for himself.

"Good," Peach murmured, grinning excitedly, "Zelda isn't here yet. We can make some pre-battle observations."

Toad nodded before flipping through a few pages of the notebook to a clean new one, pen poised readily against the paper and waiting for her command like a racer anticipating the fire of a gun.

Binoculars still pressed against her face, Peach glanced towards the lower benches and at many backs of heads, running along them slowly and keenly as her ears strained to listen for any stray conversations. Very little was happening aside from the usual fight-related predictions and commentary, and she was about to dejectedly conclude her gazing when a sight slightly excluded from the rest of the crowd caught her attention and made her smile.

"Toad, record the date and place accordingly." She paused briefly as he scribbled the instructions on paper before continuing, "Make note: Meta Knight and Jigglypuff are seated approximately five inches apart, hands slightly touching. Jigglypuff looks flushed, and Meta Knight appears to be better groomed than usual, mask especially shiny."

She swerved a bit to the left to a figure currently in an animated conversation with Mario, though _this_ sight made her smile fall in disgust.

"Also note: Luigi does not mind scratching his behind quarters in pub—"

A thump and shake of the bench beneath her suddenly cut her off and flung her into surprise. She spun around, opera glasses and all, towards the source of the sound and ensuing disturbance, only to see a mass of blue hair that covered her entire line of vision. At first, she suspected she had just spotted Marth, though a quick reference to her memories reminded her that he was seated several feet below next to Link.

Removing the binoculars instead revealed Ike.

She had never been this close to the infamous swordsman before, never had the opportunity to admire his chiseled profile and the grueling expression Zelda often complained about. He was sitting alone, elbows perched on his knees and chin resting on intertwined fingers and staring far, far ahead at the emerging figure of the brunette herself as she approached the stage. Peach's eyes turned towards her best friend then back to her new row companion with multiplying curiosity.

_Time to investigate_, she concluded. A bright smile in place, she carefully scooted herself closer.

"Well, hello, Ike!" Peach uttered delightfully, undeterred when he made no response in return. "Fancy seeing you here. You rarely show up for these sort of things."

Again, there was no sign of acknowledgment, though she _did_ notice the way he tensed when Skyworld's flourishing music began, signaling the start of battle. She briefly turned in the direction of the stage in time to catch Zelda dodge and then kick Bowser with a glowing foot and began to clap in tune with the crowd as it erupted in supportive cheers.

"You know," she started again, "as Zelda's roommate and friend, I have the strictest confidence she will win this match."

Peach watched in fascination as his gaze momentarily flickered in her direction before quickly turning back; the moment, however, had been enough for her to catch the small hint of interest.

_A response! _she gleefully thought to herself. She swallowed her excitement (lest he became suspicious) and willed the muscles of her face from erupting into a coy smirk.

"She goes off to practice every night in the Training Room," she continued, tone matter-of-factly and staring forward as to make it seem she was just making casual talk. "With the right directions, anyone can avoid the..."

The words died in her mouth as if they had suddenly hit a wall. Mouth left agape, she watched, horrified, as Bowser grabbed Zelda by her dress and pressed her towards the ground with a loud, resonating thud—a thud that hushed the audience's cheering like someone had just flipped a switch and caused Ike beside her to grip onto the metal edge of the bench until his knuckles turned white.

He looked like he was about to jump out of his seat, as if Zelda's name dangled from the tip of his tongue, but when Link beat him to it somewhere far below, he settled instead for clenching his teeth and furrowing his brows and glaring helplessly from his spot.

"She'll be fine," Peach reassured him, though she sounded anything but certain anymore. "She'll—"

Bowser pulled back Zelda's arm, mercilessly stretching the limb to its limit, and Peach inhaled sharply as her stomach lurched at the scene.

_She'll be fine, _she assured herself inwardly now, since her voice box seemed to have shut down in her fit of worry and malfunctioning nerves.

Then, without warning, came the deafening crack of shattering bone, drowned almost instantly by the shocked gasps from the audience that followed. She witnessed from the corner of her eye, as her gut recoiled with a pang, Ike clench his eyes shut and...

* * *

"...and you should have _seen_ the way he flinched when Bowser broke your arm, dear. It was heartbreaking," Peach finished with a sigh, pressing a hand understandingly to her chest.

Zelda, however, did not need to rest anything against her bosom to know that her own heart was pounding relentlessly against the suddenly too small capacity it was provided, as if it wanted to escape from the overload of emotions that currently coursed through her body. She wasn't even sure what she was feeling or how to react to the new information other than it was puzzling but oddly pleasing and made her life all the more complicated by association.

She laughed awkwardly. "That's...impossible."

Really, there was no reason for Ike to display such concern for her considering they got along as well as Fox and Wolf did—very rarely, even when highly sedated. In fact, the further she thought about it, allowed her brain to piece together and process it with an analytical ability she was renowned for (and perhaps cursed with), the more she was beginning to think that perhaps Peach had seen wrong or was simply misinforming her.

"Believe me." Peach grasped Zelda's face with both hands and pinched her cheeks gently in emphasis. "Would I ever lie to you?"

_Well..._

While it was true that Peach did have an immoral love for gossiping, whatever left her mouth was almost always never short of the truth. She had the vision of a hawk when it came to noticing behavioral shifts of the like and an even crazier skill for drawing conclusion upon them.

Zelda massaged the bridge of her nose to fend off the throb of an incoming headache. "It makes no sense, Peach."

Peach, with sudden wisdom beyond her years, patted Zelda empathetically on the arm. "Men often make little sense, dear."

* * *

**A/n:** 4,000+ words. That's how long this chapter is. And here I was aiming for somewhere near _half_ that.

Well, at least the story has finally begun rolling! One of the hardest problems I have with writing is getting it started and sticking with it before the crux of it begins.

The crux for "The Flames," of course, I mean by the next chapter.

* * *

**Next Chapter:** Chapter Four – The Jungle

_Lunch forgotten in front of them, Link gently skimmed her cheeks with his thumbs. "You look awfully tired." And then laughingly he added, "Doing something late at night that I should know about?"_

Excited? XD Please review!


	4. Chapter 4

**A/n:** Sweet Jesus on a bagel, this chapter took forever to chug out. I blame college (or you for you non-Americans: university) and work and drama and a slew of other consequential events I shall save you all the torment of reading.

Regardless, I am now done with this chapter, and due to a recent re-obsession with Brawl and Nintendo altogether, I'm super hyped to get the story moving. It helps that your reviews have been absolutely _mind-blowing_. I read them every time I hit a slump, and though I don't respond to them (because I am overtly shy like that), I love and appreciate every one of you!

This chapter in particular is dedicated to my dearest beloved **Jen** who drew me the _first ever_ The Flames fanart and for asking, time and again, "Yeah, what happened to your story?" I love you, sweetie! :3

(On a side note: this is the longest chapter to date, having been completed at a whopping 6,000+ words. Holy damn, I outdid myself.)

* * *

**The Flames**  
Chapter Four:

The Jungle

* * *

She had been dressed in her Sheikan armor, twisted in a sort of pretzel yoga pose on the oval rug of their room—trying her hardest to not think about a certain obnoxious sword-wielding dictator who had suddenly made her life a living hell—when Peach barged in without warning. The door flung open, hit the ornate mirror that hung on the wall near it, and then promptly ricocheted back to smack the blond princess in the face.

There was a brief milli-second moment of shocked silence (in which Zelda contemplated in her upside-down state whether or not the figure which had just entered the room so ungracefully, _so_ un-Peach-like, was, in fact, Peach at all) before Zelda untangled herself to spring to her friend's rescue. "Peach!" she gasped, mortified, hands already reaching for the emergency tea kit that lay on her roommate's desk. "Are you okay?"

Peach, for her part, looked completely undeterred by the fact that her nose was now red or even that her favorite mirror now had a crack in its center. "Never mind that," she huffed in turn, brushing aside a misplaced lock while trying to regain her breath. In fact, when Zelda gave her friend a good look over, she was wholly surprised at the sight of her—hair a mess, dress wrinkled, and face flushed, as if she had run a mile and over several obstacles and through perhaps even a dragon to get to their room.

Zelda's intrigue and worry peaked tenfold. "What's going on?" she asked, if a little warily.

Peach's eyes glinted with insurmountable excitement in the kind of way that warned the Hylian that something profound was afoot, a sort of unmistakable beacon of mischief as bright and twinkling as one of Mario's precious gold coins. "Today's brawl competitors have been announced."

"And?"

"_And_," Peach repeated, grin widening, smile practically bursting at the seams, "Bowser is being pitted against Ness."

For all her wisdom and no matter how many times she looked at it from different angles, Zelda failed to recognize the significance of this particular bit of information; brawls were publicly posted on the announcement board everyday, and she had seen it on her way back from the punchbag arena, tacked to the wall in a bright, elegantly bordered letterhead. Other than the well-placed and utterly expected surge of anger she felt course through her at the mere sight of Bowser's printed name (and resisting, albeit only slightly, the urge to scribble some offensive rumor next to it), there was nothing out of the norm about the match.

_Must be a slow news day_, Zelda concurred if this was all there was behind the mad rush to their room. At the brunette's clear expression of confusion, though, Peach sighed in exasperation like she had just come across someone applying the wrong shade of eyeshadow.

"My dear, obviously naive roommate," the blond princess began in a slightly chiding tone, hand grasped sympathetically (pityingly, even) within her own, "clearly, if you spent half the time you spend cooped up in here _outside _in the marvelous spacious world among our socialites," Peach paused to breathe or perhaps for dramatic effect (either was likely with a person like her), "you would _know _that Ness had to drop out due to some uncompromising situation regarding his hat."

_Kirby must have eaten it again,_ Zelda thought automatically (as was a recurring event with Kirby) before arching a skeptical brow at her friend. "So? I don't see how—"

"And you would _know_," Peach cut her off without skipping a beat, "that Link—quite eagerly, I may add—stepped up to the plate and volunteered to fight our favorite evil turtle instead."

Slowly, like the trickle of hot lava down the expanse of a mountain, ravaging and scorching as it went, comprehension sunk in. "Oh..."

"And you would _know_," Peach continued, this time guiding Zelda towards the door as she spoke, "that Link just left his room for battle, looking like he was out for the blood of a certain reptilian brawler who is, should I remind you, twice his size and easily snapped the arm of his girlfriend no less."

Zelda inhaled sharply, mortification effectively rendering her wide-eyed. "Oh my Goddesses, Bowser is going to kill him."

Peach nodded sagely. "Most likely, dear."

* * *

The battle, she realized in hindsight, was going to be a victory on Link's part long before it even began and despite any misgivings she might have had. He had motif, after all—had, in a sense, something particular to regain—and was all the more persistent in attaining victory. Even Zelda could see from her spot in the crowd the dead-serious expression on his face, could feel, even from her remote distance, his determination come off in awe-inspiring waves.

It left Zelda a little breathless.

There was a loud thud when Link's sword plunged downward and narrowly missed Bowser's large, scaly foot, Bowser having dodged just in the nick of time by falling haphazardly to the side. Having failed to hit the intended target, the sword was now wedged deeply within the concrete flooring of the arena. Link, regardless, pulled it out so fluidly it was as if he had just unwedged his weapon not from concentrated rock but rather butter.

There was now a gaping indent in the ground, as deep and black and wide as King Dedede's stomach—a blatant token of Link's power, of his resentment.

The audience around her collectively _oh_'ed.

Peach, seated nearby on her cushion and under a pink, frilled umbrella, tugged on the sleeve of the brunette's dress enthusiastically. "My _goodness_, Zelda. You never told me Link could be so unthinkingly harsh!" She aired herself briefly with a feathered fan. "I've never seen him like this."

Zelda bit her lip. Truth be told, very rarely had even _she_ seen Link act so aggressively and she knew him for _years_ (maybe even centuries; there were numerous times where it felt as if they had met in previous lives, that their fates were so heavily intertwined that it was _preordained_). He was quite possibly the sweetest man she had ever met, oftentimes shy and bashful and even borderline geeky when he wanted to be. Insults slid off him like water against a wall of titanium, as if harmful comments were nothing but balls of cotton against his invisible armor of good humor.

_Quite unlike every other man I know, _she admitted with a certain level of pride.

Seeing him so angry now, though, reminded her acutely of the very few occasions Link _had _been driven to the point where even his happy-go-lucky attitude could no longer withstand it. The destruction of Hyrule was on that exclusive list of generators, as was bug squishing and animal cruelty and now, apparently, the breaking of Zelda's arm.

Angry Link, she decided as she tried following Link's swift swings of his sword with her eyes (and found it startlingly impossible to do so), was like a different Link altogether, one who seemed to forget where he was and who he was as if none of that mattered.

Somehow, for some inexplicable reason, this was oddly foreboding.

She watched with an increasing sense of worry as Bowser broke through his opponent's defenses and landed a coiled fist straight into Link's face. The green-clad elf fell back (nose apparently broken) and, having been surprised by the swiftness of the attack, lost grip of his sword as it skidded several feet behind him with a dreadful, echoing shudder of metal against cobble. The turtle grinned a smile all sharp teeth and malice, a smile so familiar and nightmarish that Zelda actually felt a terrifying sense of deja vu course through her like one of Pikachu's electric shocks.

Without a hitch and to her immediate relief, however, Link was quick to react; before Bowser could even grasp the given opportunity to grab and harm his opponent, Link, with a level of preparedness Zelda had never seen, swiftly kicked the oncoming threat with the heal of his boot, right in the chin and with a force that caused a few teeth to fly.

The reptilian brawler lost consciousness and rolled away like a lifeless log faster than Zelda could have blinked or breathed or counted the number of times Falco had ever eaten chicken (which was zero, for the record, that one time when Wolf had tricked him notwithstanding). The speed of the retaliation left her stunned if not a little mystified; when did Link get so good? _How_ did he get so good?

And, most importantly, was he _always_ this good? Her Link (the Link she _thought _she knew) never really trained, was prone to declining brawl challenges, and on the whole seemed more interested in protesting the misuse of animals with the Pokemon crew ("Liberate our furry friends! Ban the use of pokeballs!") then care where he stood in the ranks.

_And yet, here he is, holding ground against an opponent I had major problems against. There is a certain irony to this all._

She felt admiration and jealousy simultaneously nip at her toes.

Her shame was short-lived, however, for the victory melody flourished all around them and the audience erupted into loud applause as the match came to finalized, definite end. Zelda berated herself for feeling so down when her boyfriend had just won and clapped enthusiastically instead, watched as the harsh lines on Link's face slowly melted away, much like the melting of ice, to an expression of mild surprise. He was glowing with post-battle pride, scratching the back of his neck with his usual shyness as he got up and retrieved his sword and was then offered a wreath designating his win.

As soon as his fingers touched the trophy, he turned towards the crowd, eyes earnestly darting left and right in a manner she immediately recognized as a search for her face. When their gazes finally locked, she grinned at him, waved timidly, and observed with wonderment as his whole expression brightened tenfold to a sheen as brilliant as the sun that beat down at them, as if her acknowledgment and that alone was the _true _prize for his successful duel.

"This one is for you, Zelda!" he hollered, waving the wreath excitedly in the air, practically jumping in his spot. In an instant, several eyes were gazing at her remote location at the top of the audience bench, some in amusement, others in confusion, and one (Samus) with a thumbs up. Zelda could only laugh awkwardly before sinking into her seat, embarrassed and touched and only _slightly_ mortified at the sudden attention. Before Link could even pause to breathe, her socially oblivious boyfriend continued to proclaim from the stage in an equally loud voice that her "honor was now reclaimed" and that, thus, he was going to "treat her for lunch at Olimar's new restaurant."

"And I hear it's green!" he added, almost as an afterthought, glittering in the sunlight with the sheer happiness of such information.

Somewhere in the background, Olimar and his Pikmin clapped in glee.

* * *

The restaurant _was _green, perhaps even overly so; the walls were a deep, forest shade, lined with curling vines and tropical flowers the likes of which Zelda had never seen or read about and thus could not identify (which was saying a lot since Zelda spent most of her time reading and increasing her knowledge of all things intellectual). Wooden tables were draped with green sheets and seats were lined with matching cushions and the Pikmin that led them to their reserved spot all wore matching bow ties of a similar shade.

_Olimar really went all out_, Zelda observed humorously but bit back her laugh when she noticed the look of pure bliss on Link's face.

Their space-trekking friend had taken the liberty to order the special for them, and it appeared (carried and then lifted onto their table by several Pikmin) only a few minutes upon their arrival. It was a large, mushroom-like thing with two thick legs and wiry antenna-esque eyeballs and an odor the likes of which made Zelda's nose crinkle. Despite how her stomach wanted to all but leap out of her abdomen and flee at the prospect of digesting such a unpleasant meal, propriety dictated that she suck it up and thank her host, which she did when Olimar swung around to see how they were doing.

"It is quite the exotic looking meal, Olimar," Zelda supplied.

"We are honored to have such a fine specimen as our lunch," Link added with a nod before, to Zelda's horror, inhaling the dish as vigorously as if it was the finest slice of Orden meat and not a foreign alien that smelled vaguely of rotten eggs.

The Hylian princess had to sip her water daintily to hide her discomfort, silently appraising Link all the way. He must have had a digestive track that of a beast's to even _consider_ eating their lunch. (In retrospect, this completely made sense.)

Olimar left beaming.

* * *

Several minutes into the date, and as she was contemplating whether or not to take a bite of what looked like (and she ultimately hoped was) lettuce, Zelda felt the undeniable weight of Link's gaze fall on her being as heavy and unavoidable as the fallen head of a hammer.

She pursed her lips, swallowed, and then waited.

And then waited some more.

She glanced up, met his eyes curiously, then, when this proved to be a fruitless start, glanced back down to her food, before (once again) waiting.

After a moment or two, time came to crawling, molasses-trickling stop, and Zelda's patience began to fray at the edges. She hoped for reprieve from this mute behavior—_anything_, really, would be a welcome at this point—but he didn't utter so much as a word, just continued to sit and stare at her as if she was marvelous creature suddenly in the process of growing a second head. Having been the source of unwanted scrutiny once already that day, Zelda was far from comfortable, especially since seconds ticked by and the man across the table remained silent and the odor of their lunch did not cease to exist.

She touched her cheek slowly. Was there perhaps something on her face?

Completely horrified by such a breach of etiquette, Zelda dabbed the corners of her mouth with her napkin in an effort to dispel whatever was currently motivating Link's intent, unwavering gaze and the never-ending pool of silence that came with it. When he broke into a goofy grin a second later, laughing at her feverish antics, she became a little peeved in her growing sense of self-consciousness.

"What?" she asked, eyes narrowed.

His grin morphed into a soft smile, and Zelda promptly felt her stomach do somersaults as he cupped her face from across the table with his warm, gloved hands, felt herself immediately drown in the all-consuming and unavoidable and never-ending span of ocean that were his blue eyes. Lunch long forgotten in between them, Link gently skimmed her cheeks with his thumbs as delicately as one would handle a priceless, adored artifact.

"You look tired," he finally confessed, and then added with a chuckle, "Doing something late at night I should know about?"

_Crap_, she thought, for lack of a better word.

The smile on his face belayed that he was joking (What strenuous activity could one do, anyway, after the dorms were placed in a state of perpetual lock down?), but she could tell all the same that there was a serious underlying concern to his inquiry. It always surprised her, his ability to care so much and so freely without so much as a conscious thought. At this exact moment, it also made her increasingly nervous as she grappled desperately for an answer, the _correct_ answer, and one that would possibly keep her dignity and honesty both intact.

_Does such an answer even exist?_ she wondered.

Closing her eyes in order to figure out what to say produced Ike's face brewing beneath the surface of her lids, glaring and growling and ready to bite her head off at the slightest indiscretion. Opening them similarly revealed Link's, though his was less jagged, more smooth and soft and impressionable, a face with laugh lines she could practically trace with her fingers and the reins to his heart right in his eyes.

Zelda contemplated for a second what would happen if she told him the truth—

_Oh, nothing really, Link. Just training with another man in very intimate quarters. Alone. Intimately. Did I mention alone?_

—and then promptly ended that detrimental train of thought right there. Instead, in her unresolved nervousness, she took a small forkful of the bizarre bug before them, bravely tossed it into her mouth, and then swallowed her daring escapade despite the bitter flavor that virtually raped her tongue.

Finally, she cleared her throat and threw out the first thought that entered her mind. "Peach snores."

_Crap_, she thought again.

Link blinked with shock, doe-eyed and uncomprehending, as if the idea of Peach making a brash sound in itself (during sleep or no) was hard to believe. Zelda was inclined to agree, for she saw every night exactly how obsessed Peach was with her genteel appearance; why else would she apply her usual gloss and blush whilst in bed?

"Must always be prepared," she would chip seriously. "You never know who might drop on by."

Zelda decided long ago not to question exactly what _kind _of nocturnal visitor Peach had in mind.

"I just might have a solution to your roommate issues," Link offered.

Zelda arched a brow. "Oh?"

"Earlier this week I was informed by a letter that there has been a massive swarm of primids on the Island, particularly near the jungle where consequently _Charidotella sexpunctata_ are known to reside." He blushed then, before ducking his eyes and idly running designs on the tablecloth, if he was suddenly embarrassed and shy by the path this conversation was now trudging. "Due to my lack of brawls, I have been assigned to track the primids down. It's an overnight mission and I need to pick a team of five or so..."

The minute the words _primids_ and _mission_ escaped his mouth, Zelda jumped on the opportunity like Snake during happy hour at the Halberd Pub or Jigglypuff at the mention of karaoke or Rob when someone in the boys' dorm wing blasted techno late at night. The last time she had been up against a swarm of primids, it had been with Peach, some while ago, and even then they had been caged almost immediately like a pair of helpless damsels, thrown about as if they were no more precious than sacks of produce later to be skinned and eaten.

Zelda intertwined a hand with Link's and squeezed with all the earnestness of an excited child. This was perfect; she would amend the situation, telling Link everything he needed to know regarding Ike, once she could prove to herself that she, without a shroud of doubt, no longer needed the teachings of a horrid fighter who thought he knew it all.

She would see to it.

"When do we leave?"

* * *

They left that evening, duffel bags in tow, journeying towards the team's meeting ground as the sun dipped into the horizon and painted everything in the light outer brush of the jungle with an eerie, almost holy glow. A mixture of dead leaves and broken branches crunched beneath her boots, and excited as she may have been, Zelda wondered exactly why it was they were beginning the mission now, so late in the day.

Upon voicing her concern, Link paused to laugh awkwardly, as if he had been just caught stealing a cookie.

"You see," he began, glancing at the ground apologetically, "I was supposed to be here a little after sunrise, but certain opportune situations arose—" the fight to regain Zelda's honor, he meant "—and then there was the simple matter that I forget..."

Zelda stared, for nothing else seemed more apt given what had just been said. "Link," she uttered slowly in complete disbelief, "do you mean to tell me...that your teammates...have been waiting in the middle of a forest for more than five hours?"

The color drained from his face. He twiddled his fingers nervously. "It's been that long?"

"Possibly more."

Link's shoulders slumped. "Oh, Zelda," he mourned, bottom lip trembling like a child's in the face of strict parental punishment, "they're going to _kill _me! They _deserve_ to kill me!"

"There, there," she cooed gently, linking arms with him and sympathetically patting his hand. "I doubt they'd be that..._zealous_ in their retribution." This was a lie, of course, but she couldn't have necessarily told him that lest run the risk of bruising his courage. _I won't be surprised if I have to find a new boyfriend by morning_, she inwardly sighed. "And in any case, I'll be there."

As if _just_ realizing this, Link's head shot up. "That's right!" he cried before turning swiftly to stand in front of her, reeking of a sudden protective aura of near-choking magnitude. "Zelda, you have to leave! For your safety!"

She only minutely resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

"Link," she berated mock-seriously, "a few testosterone-pumping jerks can't hurt me; they _wont_ hurt me. I am no damsel in distress." Then, deciding to roll with this self-righteousness just to mess with him, Zelda made a show of walking past him on the dirt path, in an angry, how-dare-you-underestimate-me sort of gait. A giggle threatened to burst from her lips and it took every bit of self-control to maintain her façade as she stomped on the dirt with her heavy boots like a warrior at the verge of kicking some blatant patriarchal sexism.

Sometimes, he just made it _so_ easy.

_Consider it revenge for making me think I had something on my face, Hero._

Before she could take even two steps, however, a hand on her upper arm stopped her in her tracks so suddenly it was like a perpetual iron chain had been just lassoed around her torso. Link's expression, when she turned to look, borderlined pure and absolute panic. "I didn't mean—" he started, eyes wide.

"I know," she interjected, touching the front of his tunic reassuringly. "I was joking, silly."

A smile and a touch was all it took to sooth him; relief washed away his anxiety like a cleansing tidal wave, and the grip on her arm loosened as he beamed, ear to ear, sparkling with an inner light that could undoubtedly light the darkest of caves and even tan the most absurdly palest of creatures (i.e., Mewtwo). "Good." He scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. "For a minute there, I was almost worried."

_Almost_ was an understatement. "You have nothing to worry about, Link," she said with the utmost certainty. "I would never leave you."

This was as true as the sky was blue and the grass was green and Wario's underpants were purple, for she couldn't remember a time when she had ever been _really _mad at him; it was almost impossible, considering how gentle he was, both to her and nearly everyone (and everything) around them. In the large but highly selective expanse of Zelda's heart, she held him in the highest regard and knew, by the surge of happiness at the mere thought of him, that their relationship was genuine and special and (most of all) destiny.

_After all,_ she concluded, _it isn't every day that you, your father, _and _your country can all approve of the same man all at the same time. _

Despite her assurance, Link's smile wavered for a split, heart-shattering moment. "I'm not too sure," he uttered then in the strangest, saddest voice and looked at the hand currently resting against his chest (his _heart_) with the strangest, saddest expression. A shiver sparked violently down her spine, even though by no means was it a chilly day, and her gut tightened as he tenderly lifted her palm and kissed her knuckles and squeezed her hand as if he was trying to grasp for something far-reaching.

She blinked slowly, confused—at his words, at his actions, at the guilt-churning knot in her stomach—before squeezing back. "Link..."

And then, as if a switch had been hit, he was grinning again. "Just kidding!" he laughed, any trace of the gloom that had existed on the planes of his face evaporating in the span of a second. Zelda was caught so off guard by the change that she openly gawked (_Gawking! In public! How unbecoming._) before altogether recovering and punching him in the side.

"Jerk," she huffed.

"I'm sorry." He sobered instantly, hugging her in apology.

Though she embraced him back and replied with an affectionate tone of voice that it was okay, pressed against his shoulder and hidden from his sight, Zelda allowed herself to bite her lip in mild fear, couldn't prevent the questions from rising, clawing their way into her heart and planting a seed of doubt.

Because what if...what if he _hadn't_ been joking?

"If the reason you are so horrendously late is because you were too busy snogging in this romantic—granted _wet_—ambiance, I will be sorely disappointed in you, Link," a voice interrupted, cutting through the misty, afternoon dew (as well as her thoughts) like the sharp swing of a knife. Link stiffened before turning a bright shade of red.

"M-Marth!" he cried incredulously, whipping around in the direction of the remark. "We weren't—I was simply—"

"Right, and I'm not a natural blue-head," was the sarcastic and highly amused reply.

The image of Marth with a hair color other than navy flashed in her mind briefly as she peered around Link to see the Prince of Altea further along the trail, leaning against a tree and picking at imaginary dirt and smirking as if he had just discovered a secret. Upon noticing Zelda, Marth bowed to greet her, bending at the waist a little too flamboyantly and with a little too much flourish to be taken seriously but was, ultimately, in complete and typical Marth-esque fashion.

"Zelda."

"Marth," she acknowledged, rolling her eyes but unable to stop from smiling back and giving a little bow of her own.

As Marth rose, he turned an accusing gaze at his blond friend. "Link, you dog," he scolded, hand pressed against his chest in an effort to display how utterly hurt he was by the Hylian hero, as if some grand and dark betrayal was afoot, "you never told me you were bringing her along! Had I known, I would've brought my own female companion as well."

Link ducked his head, flustered. "Well, Peach's snoring was causing problems for her and I thought—"

"Wait," Marth remarked suddenly, a hand raised in a sort of cease-and-desist signal and eyes as wide as the opals decorating his person. "Peach snores?"

Behind Link, Zelda rubbed her forehead in the shame of having successfully spread a false rumor. _Forgive me, dear friend._

"Er, well..." Link faltered, looking around briefly, as if the Mushroom Kingdom Princess herself was hiding in some nearby bush, ready to pop up any second with a war cry and stab him should he reveal such a startling splotch on her reputation. As much as he avoided the social rings, Zelda could tell that even _he_ knew one needed to tread carefully when it came to spreading anything that tarnished Peach's grand countenance. (There was a reason, after all, Dr. Mario did not return this season.) "Zelda said—"

Marth was in front of Zelda so fast and resting his hands on her shoulders that Sonic would've been jealous of the sheer speed with which the blue-head had crossed their distance.

"Zelda, my darling," he began in a tone of voice that Zelda knew, from years of being friends with Peach, irrevocably meant trouble.

"Not a chance," she replied in a clipped tone, coolly walking around him and continuing on the path.

Marth pouted. "But—"

"If you continue to ask," she continued confidentially, "I shall tell Peach how it _wasn't_ Dr. Mario who put green dye in her shampoo the last Smash campaign but rather a certain Altean noble with a penchant for women."

There was silence—choking, prevailing silence where even the birds, upon hearing this profound revelation, halted in their attempts of mindless chatter to speechlessly stare.

Then, Link's clueless expression suddenly morphed in surprise. "It was _you_—"

Marth quickly placed a hand over Link's mouth. "We should get going. _Going_. To that mission. _Mission._" He gave the blond a look to remind him of today's purpose and how that wasn't to openly discuss Marth's closet of secret pranks, one of which, if brought to light, could undoubtedly end his life in the most horrid way possible known to the male species.

_I can confidently say such a death would involve stilettos and copious amounts of pink lace_, Zelda nodded to herself.

* * *

"You're late."

Zelda stopped so suddenly that Link walked right into her and then Marth right into him before toppling backwards and falling not-so-gracefully on his butt.

"Ow," Marth whined loudly, as if a serious injury had been just attained and that it was not simply his bottom and pride currently bruised. Link turned to help his fallen friend, leaving the Hylian princess alone and unattended at the end of the path where it subsequently merged into green and then opened to a clearing before them, a clearing that was the rendezvous point, a clearing as wide as one of Mario's soccer fields and as empty as Diddy Kong's head.

A clearing from which Zelda heard the voice of the last man she had wanted to be present on an over-night mission.

She shivered, daring not to say his name, as doing so would only confirm how Fate had a cruel sense of humor.

_He's just an apparition, Zelda_, she coached herself, refusing to move her gaze from the grass beneath her (the grass was, after all, so beautiful in the waning sunlight; it would be a shame not admire it). _A ghost. A figment of my imagination. If I just ignore him, he'll melt and disappear._

"Sorry," Link laughed, rubbing his forehead. "I'm quite the knucklehead."

"I don't accept your apology," said he-who-should-not-be-named, words oozing with such arrogance and acidity that she imagined they caused all life in a one foot radius of him to shrivel up in agony, "but I do admit to your knuckleheaded-ness."

At this, Zelda's resolve to bore holes into the ground suddenly snapped with the vengeance of a vigilant girlfriend, and she lifted her face to venomously glare at the offending creature that was Ike. Said swordsman stood sturdily right in the middle of the meeting ground, arms folded, a nastily displeased expression on the planes of his countenance. Pit and Yoshi stood wide-eyed behind this looming mentor of hers, but she barely registered them over her boiling fury and Ike's annoyingly flapping cape.

"How _dare_ you—" She stepped forward, a finger extended to readily point with indignation. Or perhaps poke him to death.

"How dare I what?" he repeated, a brow arched, the hints of a smirk just twitching at the corner of his mouth.

"_Y-you_..." she stuttered, finger shaking.

Realizing that she was quickly losing control of her anger and there were indeed people watching (_Link_ was watching, most importantly), Zelda quickly sent a prayer to the Goddesses above her lest she did something she would ultimately regret doing in front of so many witnesses. _O' Nayru, _she began with extreme desperation, _please grant me thy knowledge, thy strength, and thy vigilance so I can stop myself from shoving a stick down Ike's throat and my knee into his groin. _

Lucario, as if on cue, took it upon himself at this moment to glide out of the shadows of a tree like a harbinger of peace, flipping mid-air in a stray beam of sunlight, before landing majestically on his feet. Zelda would have clapped at the grand display of gymnastics had she not known that Lucario quite disliked such modes of appreciation and that currently he looked as pissed as a wet cat.

"Why were you late?" the Pokemon's deep voice echoed, not as normal voices did in the space between them but in the minds of all who were supposed to hear. "Furthermore, why is she here? I was told this was only a six-man hunt."

Zelda's finger deflated.

_Six man-hunt...?_

She looked around, counted, and then, like the flame of youth had been just snuffed out of her, promptly sunk to the ground.

"Zelda!" Link shouted worriedly, at her side in a matter of seconds. "What's wrong?"

"Poor woman." Marth stroked his chin, understanding instantly. "She just realized the complexity of her situation."

The complexity of her situation was this:

Six male egos.

Two days.

One forest of no return.

Her first venture into the training room (where she had been nearly trampled on by a hairy ape and sniper who didn't have the decency to wear proper undergarments under his super-tight uniform) flashed back to slap her in face, a reminder why she avoided mingling with more than a handful of guys due to the contagious disease that was Large-Male-Group-Stupidity.

_What, in all that is my sanity, have I gotten myself into?_

Concern momentarily forgotten, Link pursed his lips in confusion and then addressed the most obvious question that was on everyone's mind, even Zelda's despite the urge that coarsed within her to flee for her life, even Ike's whose eyebrows quirked in curiosity. "Yoshi's male?" Everyone glanced at the green dinosaur currently trying to eat a butterfly and this confusion only seemed to multiply. "But the eggs..."

In response, Lucario's face contorted in a rare display of agony, a telltale sign of a painful knowledge that even _he _regretted having psychically found out. Zelda acutely realized her torment was nothing comparable to the Pokemon's. "Believe me," he murmured to all but Yoshi himself, tone laced with distress, "it is a complex explanation you would not like the horror of learning."

* * *

**A/n:** More Zelink in this chapter than a non-Zelink story should have + very little Ike = I fail as an Ike/Zelda writer. D:

Also far as the characterizations go, I figured, hey, since I'm twisting around everyone's personalities, why not mess around with Link's? And, _hey_, while I'm at Link, why not toy around with Marth _too_?

Hope it's to everyone's liking because now I'm in the process of working on a side story to The Flames _involving_ this new Marth and Peach and a third person who shall not be named for the sake of suspense. I'm not sure where to post it, when to post it, or even to post it at all, but I'll figure that all out once I figure out the plot of said new project.

Anyway, I'm going to have a blast writing the next few chapters. Primids and trees and angry Ike, oh my!

(For the record: _Charidotella sexpunctata_ is the binomial name for a golden tortoise beetle. Given Link's geekiness, I thought it was appropriate.)

* * *

**Next Chapter:** Chapter Five — The Night

"Has he stolen your virtue?"

Zelda promptly tripped on a stray tree root.

"My _what_?"

"You know." There was a wave of the hand. "Your _virginity_."


End file.
